


Ripe

by Anonymous



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Knotting, M/M, Masturbation, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rimming, Time Travel, breif breeding kink maybe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-26
Updated: 2018-03-26
Packaged: 2019-04-08 14:36:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14107506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: It's late in the evening and Harry knows he should be at home already with his supressants ready to stop working anytime, but he can't give up on this task, not when it reminds him of a man everyone else wants to forget about.





	Ripe

**Author's Note:**

> This thing makes no logical sense probably so don't @ me. I wanted some more a/b/o and I wanted it more or less happy as in "not non-con". Anyway, please enjoy.

Harry knew he was playing with his fate. The healers told him months ago that it was bound to happen, that there was no escaping from his heat appearing at last, not even after doubling his suppressants’ dosage.  _ They weren't meant to be used for so long, _ they told him, Beta noses wrinkling as his scent started showing, perceptible even for them, seducing.

His shirt felt tight the whole day long, nipples oddly puff and chest a bit swollen, aching.

Everything seemed perfectly fine in the morning. He'd only felt a bit sweaty, for lack of a better word to describe the unknown feeling lingering on his skin - but other than this his body was acting as it usually did, perfectly suppressed and under control.

It started when he got into his office; he passed Draco Malfoy on his way there and his scent... He had never realized how nice it was, strong and safe and alluring. It took him a moment to realize he was swaying his hips at him, to get his attention as if he was some common whore in need of an urgent paycheck. He ran for his office door before Draco could turn around and question him.

It wasn't that he hated being an Omega - if anything he was a perfect example of overcoming the downsides, carefully using his natural abilities for his advantage. The general... mindset had changed greatly over the years and even if some - Mrs. Weasley included - were still hoping for all Omegas to stay home and focus on providing their mates... carnal release, many wizards acknowledged the wide range of possible careers an Omega could pursue. Harry had used his nature skillfully, charming when it was needed, in a way an Alpha could never be. Even on suppressants, he knew he was alluring.

Going into heat was never an option though. After the first time, back at school, he'd never gone into it again. The memory was... gruesome. It was all pain and tears and the hazy feeling of losing control over his body. The  _ need _ was the worst. He had touched himself, but it couldn't bring him release, he had humped the infirmary bed, but it was never enough. Everything was hot and dirty and wild and Harry didn't like it, not at all. Besides, he couldn't afford taking so many days off. Heats were controlled to some extend, planned in advance, but how could he plan anything being an Auror?

He could have never planned the odd finding at Knockturn, to name one. The issue was pressing and he had no intention of passing this case to someone else, not even to Ron - especially not Ron - even if his reasons were nothing more than selfish.

It was the same shop  _ he  _ had used to work in. After so many years, it seemed dumb to remember the details so clearly, but Harry felt pulled to him still, as if he could almost smell the Alpha on him. It was small mercy, never feeling him for real. But it kept Harry wondering. Sometimes, when he was sure no one could eavesdrop on his thoughts, Harry liked to think about him, the promising man everyone wanted to forget about. He wondered how would it feel to hold him close, offering the little comfort that was already too much in the light of their past. Harry knew it should’ve made him feel sick, but the simple, trivial dream filled the hollow space that he supposed was meant for his non-existing Alpha, his mate. For Tom, if they had met in different circumstances, different time, he could be strong, not some kind of a whiny mess, meant to play a role he hadn’t auditioned for.

Using the fireplace - and making sure to say Diagon Alley nice and clear - Harry tried to ignore the awfully real strain of his nipples against his shirt. He could swear it was getting damp, but he didn't dare to check, too afraid of what might happen if he tried. The healers had told him that delayed heats were a lot more wild than regular ones and Harry had seen glimpses of pity in their eyes and heard a bit of arrogance in their voices, Mrs. Weasley’s  _ I told you _ echoing somewhere in his mind as they had told him how to get ready for what was about to happen.  _ A week off _ , they had said, and Harry booked it dutifully, informing Hermione about his condition. Perfectly Beta, she couldn’t sympathize too much.

It was getting dark already and Harry hoped he wasn't late. The street was oddly empty and he had to get back home soon.

He felt it the moment his shoes grazed over the grey gravel.

The scent lingering in the air was thick, rich like oranges and musk, something about it reminding Harry of warm soil.

"Ron?" His voice sounded oddly high, unnatural. "Are you there?"

For a brief moment no one answered, the alley dark and empty in front of his eyes, but right when he was about to turn away and flee, scared by the way the scent was making him willing to go on his knees, to present, something moved in the shadows and a strangled whimper reached his ears.

A wave of pain, familiar but stronger than he remembered, flooded his insides, twisting his guts and pulling air out of his lungs. He grabbed his stomach, bending in half, trying to take control of the cramps, but it didn't help, it couldn't.

His heat was starting.

“Sir?”

Something moved in the darkness, tall and shaky and Harry blinked, not willing to believe his ears. He knew that voice.

His breath hitched.

There was no mistaking.

In the dim lamplight, right in front of his eyes, Tom Riddle was trying to stand straight, fever obvious on his face where dark hair sticked to his sweaty forehead. His lips were parted and he was panting, short breaths leaving his mouth, in and out, sending waves of his scent towards Harry.

_ He’s an Alpha, _ Harry realized with an unusual mix of surprise and relief he couldn’t quite understand.  _ Just like I thought. _

But before he could word any of it, before he could tell Tom that he was safe now, that Harry was ready to take proper care of him - as if made any sense at all, as if he wasn’t going crazy with heat - Tom gave out a strangled groan, low and oddly aggressive, primal, and Harry felt his knees meeting the concrete, the skin of his palms tearing apart, blood colouring the ground. He couldn’t see anything, couldn’t hear anything - there was only the sudden need, the shiver running down his arched back and lower, where slick started oozing from him, seeping through his pants, damp and suddenly too rough against his skin, flowing down his sack, wetting the heavy curve of his balls. Blood filled him so quickly Harry felt dizzy. 

“Please,” he heard himself beg, his voice barely a whisper. “Please, help me.”

* * *

 

Tom  _ wanted _ .

He wasn’t sure what exactly was the object of his need, but he  _ wanted _ from the minute he woke up, arousal hot and heavy between his legs, throbbing. It had happened to him before, waking up with the wicked want when he’d dreamt about… things. His mind was full of ashes and smoke and the taste of something dark lingered on his tongue, the touch of  someone’s hand still present on his neck.

He’d read about it. He’d been warned about it. But it had been so long, way past his time to present, and he had settled in his Beta ways. Back at school, everyone had thought he’d be Alpha, they had all been waiting for it. Wasn’t he the strongest, the best?

Trying not to wake his flatmate, an Irish wizard called Colm, he went to the bathroom quickly, before anyone could see what state he was in, trying to avoid touching himself, dipping some old cloth in cold water to put it over his groin.

He hissed when the icy fabric touched his feverish skin, but it didn’t help. It was working just fine until this day, it was working…

Restless, he wondered if Borgin would see what was happening to him if he simply put on his clothes. Would it be visible? How mad would his boss be seeing him like this?

_ Maybe _ , he thought reluctantly, watching himself in the small mirror, trying to avoid lingering on his abdomen too much,  _ maybe it would be better if I took care of it now. _

Trying to keep quiet, he put the cloth inside his mouth, scared of the sound he might made. His fingers hovered over the glistening tip for a moment, trembling and unsure, as he wondered what exactly should he do. He had no friends who could teach him - he’d rather die than ask them for help anyway - but when he finally touched himself, spreading the clear droplets around the reddened head, it felt good.

“Oh-”

Relieved about gagging himself, Tom put his other hand on the old broken sink, searching for support. It was… It was odd, the feeling overcoming him, new and pleasant. It was different.

He tried moving his hand down the hard length, marvelling at the small shivers taking his body, travelling down his legs and up, to his arms and ears, to his neck, to the place where the hand was always touching him in his dreams.

Mad with want, he sped up his pace, stroking up and down almost too roughly, painfully. He didn’t want it to feel good, he simply wanted it to go away. 

Finally, the thing building in him reached a  _ point _ . He shivered through it, trying to make as little mess as it was possible, scared by the thickness of his release, surprised by the look of it. His hand was sweaty and slippery on the sink and his knees threatened to give way any moment, so exhausted he felt, so spent.

But his arousal didn’t go away.

His reflection was staring at him from the other side of the mirror, eyes glossy and lips trembling, blush high on his cheeks.

He didn’t even look like himself.

Deciding to dress up, he sneaked out the sleeping house, leaving a quickly scribbled note informing Colm that he’d be back late.

The day dragged on, full of smells and odd feelings lingering in his body, the heaviness never leaving him for too long, no matter how much he tried not to trigger it while shifting his legs or walking. The sun seemed brighter, blinding, and his vision was blurry until the evening finally came, the perspective of leaving the shop both giving him hope and chilling him to the bones. What was he supposed to do?

He hid in the narrow alley, feeling worse with each passing minute. He saw a woman passing by, dressed in greens and yellows, and for some reason, even though she didn’t spare him one look, it felt as if she was calling for him, awakening something hidden, spreading flame through his veins.

Tom bit down his knuckles to stop himself from following her.

Instead, he let his hand wander down his side, to his pants, cupping himself, barely touching.

His hips rutted into his own palm as if he was a dog, an animal, and he couldn’t help hissing.

He wanted, he needed, needed something warm next to him, something tight-

He felt it before he could see the man with his tears-filled eyes. Somehow, Tom knew it was  _ him,  _ the man from his dreams, and no one else, because even if it had never seemed so pronounced, he knew the scent that has suddenly filled his hiding place. He had no idea how to name it, but it was sweet and intoxicating, like all the candies he’d never had a chance to taste, caramel and vanilla.

He heard a voice, coming from afar, from another world, and a sob escaped his mouth.

He needed that man, Tom realized suddenly.

Somewhere in the dark he could sense someone, an intruder getting nearer. He didn’t want them here, not when he was with that man.

Another sound, low and threatening and a bit like a growl was heard in the alley. It took Tom a moment to realize he made it.

“Please,” he heard the man say, pleading and in pain and his heart sank. “Please, help me.”

Tom was ready to bring him relief.

* * *

 

Harry wasn’t entirely sure how did they manage to find themselves in a flat, but it didn’t matter, not when his thighs were damp with slick and his whole body trembled, desperate to wrap itself around Tom, around his Alpha cock, taking his knot, his seed-

The mere thought made him whimper.

“Sir!” Tom startled when he nipped at his neck, at how much of it he could reach, licking his way around the heavily pulsing vein and tasting the salty sweat. Tom tried to stop him, even though his other hand moved down Harry’ spine, stroking the curve of his ass absent-mindedly, moulding his burning flesh and the soaked fabric of his pants. Another wave of feverish pleasure rushed through him, sending out a generous amount of slick, coating Tom’s fingers.

His hands struggled with unbuttoning Tom’s thin shirt before he remembered he could help himself with magic. His senses were covered in mist it seemed, perception selective and focused solely on the body next to his, on the scent filling his nose and lungs and the way Tom’s hips moved against his leg, unconsciously it seemed, stuttering pace giving away his confusion.

Using what remained of his sense, Harry magiced their clothes away.

The outline of Tom’s hard cock became much more real against his thigh. Harry felt his legs tremble at the thought of fitting it inside.

Tom growled, fingers dipping into Harry’ flesh with possessive want, bringing him closer, pressing him flush to his chest.

His skin was on fire.

A hand played with the edge of his bottom, sliding through the wet mess gushing down his legs, no longer restrained by clothes. Fingers, inexperienced but eager, tugged the fluttering edge of his hole, testing it curiously.

“You...” He heard Tom’s voice in his ear, followed by teeth worrying his earlobe. “You’re so warm…”

A sound, needy and wanton, left his throat, and Harry felt his body chasing Tom’s fingertips, trying to catch them, to keep them where they were or even better - push them inside, fill the screaming emptiness.

But Tom moved his hand away, bringing it back to his mouth, slick dripping off his fingers as he took them in his mouth, eyes closed as he tried the glistening essence.

Harry caught himself waiting for his verdict.

“You’re so  _ sweet _ .”

Before he realized, Tom’s fingers were nudging his mouth to open so he could taste himself.

It was purely wicked.

The taste was cloy and sickening, but Harry licked it off Tom nonetheless, craving his skin, the warmth seeping from it to his mouth, deep into his throat where he tried to take Tom’s fingers, sucking them with desperation. He could feel drool seeping from his mouth, down his chin and lower, to the floor.

It was too much.

His knees hit the ground again, this time sinking into the carpet and his head followed, until he could feel the soft fabric against his cheek.

“T-Tom," a half-hearted sob escaped his mouth. “Tom, I need...”

Even though he felt vulnerable, Harry wanted to expose himself to Tom’s eyes, to impress him. A small jolt of doubt rushed through his mind like a lightening on a summer night. What if he wasn’t enough? What if Tom wouldn’t want him, broken as he was?

He had to do something, he had to impress him, had to make him stay…

Mouth, sloppy and wet, traced the skin of his back and Harry lost the train of thoughts he was following a moment before.

“I need you inside, Tom, I need your-”

He didn’t get a chance to word his need, because Tom bit him, not once, but time after time, sending jolts of pain and pleasure through his shivering body, making him mewl like a cat, soundless pleas escaping his mouth and getting lost in the carpet.

“You’re so pretty,” Tom kissed him, pressing his plump lips to Harry’ hole. “So soft.”

His cock throbbed one last time and gave up, spilling onto the carpet, but it didn’t bring Harry any sort of comfort. He needed Tom’s knot, he needed it deep and hard and now, buried within the heat of his aching body; he was ready to take it, he was willing.

Why did he decline himself the pleasure of being taken for so many years?

Tom sucked on his rim once again, and another portion of slick ran directly into his mouth, the gulping sound making it clear where it went.

“Tom,” he tried, aware of every little lick his tongue was leaving on his flesh, diving into him just a tiny bit, making him moan. “I need you…” He was practically crying now, a writhing mess on the floor, the very thing he always wanted to avoid finally happening. “Inside.”

The man from his dreams tasted like late summer, like a lazy evening after a long day, ripe and heavy on his tongue.

Somehow, the man knew his name, but it didn’t matter, not now.

Tom nosed the crack between his round cheeks, not minding the slick covering his face. He loved it, he loved that man too. For some reason the revolting thought became perfectly easy to digest, no longer subdued by guilt. That man was in pain. Tom was helping him.

His cock was still aching, even more now than before, up and angry against his flat belly, twitching every time the liquid gushing from the stranger’s body fell on it by accident, sending wonderful waves of bliss down Tom’s spine.

The man was shivering beneath him, his head pressed into the carpet. He was suffering it seemed, crying and desperately pressing himself into Tom’s mouth, searching the touch of his tongue, sobbing.

_ Inside _ , the man wanted him  _ inside _ .

“Your cock, Tom, put it in me,” he said once again, more clearly, even though his voice broke and a few tears streamed down his handsome face. Tom didn’t want him to cry. “Please.”

He was still hard, just like Tom was, but he was also smaller and Tom tried reaching for his length, curious what would it feel like to touch it, but the man whined, louder and more desperate, something akin a  _ no  _ leaving his mouth.

“Inside,” he breathed out again, his knees visibly shaking.

Tom leaned down to kiss his shoulders, mounting him with ease. He’d never known it would feel like this, Tom thought, nipping at the soft skin, feeling the shivers running through the man as he got near his neck, his tongue collecting the sweat that has gathered at the line of his hair.

He wanted to devour him, to eat him alive and drink him whole.

Taking pity, Tom held his trembling body, steading it.

The swollen head of his cock seemed fat against the fluttering hole and Tom was afraid he wouldn’t be able to do it right, wouldn't give the man what he needed, but his skin was aflame now and his body was urging him to move, muscles twitching and pulling him forward, to the heat and wetness the man was offering.

Pushing a bit, he sank inside, overwhelmed by the tightness and the blissful warmth enveloping him at once, sucking him in it seemed, as if the man’s body wanted nothing more than to milk him, to pull the thick seed out of his groin.

He never imagined how good it would feel.

His hips were moving on his own against and Tom was no longer trying to control it. His cock brushed against the man’s when he pulled all the way out by accident and Tom thought it might send him over the edge again, but the only one to spill was the stranger, shaking under him and barely keeping himself up, pressing into Tom’s embrace, his ass searching to be filled again.

He couldn’t control his pace, rutting desperately, pushing deeper and deeper, until his balls were seated against  the man’s round bottom, the sound of their skin pounding filling the room.

Something was building in him, but it was different than in the morning, fuller, and soon he couldn’t pull himself out, the puffy hole closing around him and stretching, the man himself whimpering when Tom tried to force himself out.

Buried deep, he felt the man moving against him, thrusting.

He was caught now, unable to pull away, caught by the tight grip of a beautiful body, filling it to the very edge.

“Give it to me,” the man whispered, so quietly Tom could barely hear him. “Fill me with your seed, Tom. Breed me.”

Tom thought he might went crazy if  the man kept talking to him like this.

Guided more by instinct than experience, he leaned against the man back again, trying to offer him some comfort. He was panting now, just like the man beneath him, chest heaving when Tom kissed the back of his neck, biting down only a bit, and he felt the man relax under him suddenly, the tense stiffness leaving his shoulders as the man came once again, twitching around Tom and finally pulling his release out of him.

He came inside him, pulsing and filling the man with his seed, just like he had asked him to, and though he didn’t have much comparison, it felt much more satisfying than spilling over his hand and the bathroom floor.

His hips twitched a few more times and  the man cried out, oversensitive and exhausted.

Tom wanted nothing more than to hold the man close.

* * *

 

He was safe. He was happy. The heat in his veins wasn’t entirely gone, but it got weaker, lingering on the edge of his consciousness.

Harry could feel slick and Tom’s come seeping from his stretched hole when he let him go at last, and he fell onto the floor, paying little attention to the mess he was currently lying in.

“Sir?” Tom was whispering into his ear, breath soft and warm against his skin. “Would you like to stay the night?”

The idea was brilliant, of course, but Harry didn’t have enough strength to move. He held out his hands, silently asking Tom to take him into his arms. He’d still have time to think about what had happened,  _ how  _ it had happened.

The moment he hit the mattress, his eyes started closing.

Tom didn’t let go of his hand, but he didn’t sit down either, visibly uneasy.

“Stay,” he wanted to order him, but his voice sounded more pleading than commanding. “I’d like to keep you close.”

When Tom finally laid down next to him, the weight of his warm body felt anchoring after what had happened.

Harry was thankful it was Tom who took him. His first. Hopefully his last.

He couldn’t help smiling, letting Tom embrace him a bit tighter under the blanket.

Yes, yes. Maybe this could work.


End file.
